Alpha
by White Pontiac Heaven
Summary: "Evil is always unspectacular and always human. And shares our bed...and eats at our table." Pretending you're Canine has its perks, but it doesn't prevent Emmett from watching his mother fall apart at the fists of his father.
1. Chapter 1

**an**: This story is set about 8 years after "Cold". Casey Ostlund = Casey Novak. I think that's it for now. _Edited as of 10/23/12_

**Disclaimer**: Emmett and Devan Ostlund are mine. If you can recognize them from the boob tube, they're probably not mine.

* * *

Wolves, he thinks, are like people. They're quite misleading. They look at you with devil eyes and show their teeth, fur stands straight up, claws dig into the dirt. Strangers stress the danger of them, exaggerate their behavior, and yet everyone wants a piece of them. They want their fur and their fangs to wear, their heads hung on the walls.

No matter how many times Emmett hears his teacher say wolves are dangerous, he won't believe it. He watches the video with the rest of his class about the wild life they've never seen before. Squirrels in Central Park are the closest to a wild animal he's ever been. The wolves flicker across the screen again, and he envies them. They look warm and pretty. And nice, with their ears pinned back, greeting each other.

He wants to be one. He wants to look strong and ferocious and he wants to be feared. He wants to be with wolves just like him, accepted and loved and together. He listens closely as the narrator tells of the mother wolf and how she will protect her pups at all costs. It sticks to him like glue. So does the bit about the alpha male and how he's constantly picking on those lesser than him.

Emmett wants his own mother wolf to step up to the plate.

His own pack is misleading.

The alpha male looks at him with devil eyes and smiles, his claws sometime dig into his mother's skin, and she pretends it doesn't happen. He likes to put her in her place, because he can and she doesn't challenge him. It's against the pack's rules. She is nothing if not loyal.

They look happy to everyone else.

"Emmett," Mrs. Tutherow raises her voice at the boy, frustrated with his lack of an attention span. "Are you even watching this?"

He nods.

"I hope so. This is on your test tomorrow."

When did the third grade get so hard? He sighs and puts his chin on his fist, and tries to pay attention.

The eight year old is a little small for his size, but his mom says she was that way too before she grew up. His brown hair is kind of long too, but it shapes his face and gives him something to hide behind when he doesn't have his sheets.

Mrs. Tutherow has met his mother once, at a conference earlier this year. He has the same brilliant green eyes as her. She's a bit paler than he is, but she figures Emmett got that trait from his father. He speaks like her too, with a strong rasp and slight cracks. She thinks it might be time for a meeting with his mother as there seems to be something wrong with her child.

* * *

The sound of school buses and loud children are like nails on a chalkboard to Casey Ostlund. She had never gone through the 'baby fever' like most woman, and though she won't go as far as to say she doesn't find kids cute and all, she'll admit she isn't a fan. She had thought about the idea of a mini her in the past, but that's all it was, just a thought. No need for one, no desire.

She uses her forearm to brush the bottled blonde hair out of her face and continues to wash the raw chicken. She hates to cook, but Devan likes his dinner on the table when he gets home. It had never been such a task in the beginning. The whole experience of being a wife and mother had been so new and exciting to her.

Had she known being a wife meant being the object of a man's aversion, she would have never exchanged vows. She often imagines where she'd be if she had denied the proposal and kept her pregnancy a secret. And then she feels guilty for the thoughts. She's stuck in this mess of unrequited love and obligations, and there's nothing she can do about it. It's in her nature to fight it, but she doesn't.

She doesn't tell him to stop anymore when he puts his hands on her.

In five years, she's seen dozens of domestic abuse cases while working with Manhattan's Special Victims Unit, and she had shamefully judged the victims when alone. She was never able to wrap her mind around the fact that they didn't leave when it started. She couldn't figure why someone would stay with a significant other if they were hurting them, love or not. She would wonder what happened to their self respect.

And as she loses hers, she finally understands it.

Fighting back only makes it worse.

The front door slams shut and she flinches. It's a reflex, and she shakes the feeling when she remembers how early in the day it is, that it's her son home from school. Emmett drags his feet to the kitchen and throws his Batman backpack on the table, the glow-in-the-dark symbol face down.

"Hey kiddo," She looks behind her to see him plop down on a chair with a pouty lip. "Careful or you might trip on that lip."

"I don't care."

"What's the matter?"

Emmett stands up and hops on the counter, his mom's eyes leveled with his torso. She reads the note pinned to his blue shirt and her eye rolling is accompanied with a sigh.

"Another one? Your teacher's nosy." Casey says and she gets a little chuckle out of him – a pick-me-up she's needed. When she got the first two notes, she had honestly believed Emmett was acting up in class, and so she agreed to a meeting only to discover he's not social enough. In short, he's too well behaved.

After that, she began to throw them away.

"She's always sayin' I don't pay attention."

"Well do you?"

"No, but that's not the point." He says. "Besides, I did today and she still said something. I can't ever win."

Casey laughs. "You and me both, bub."

"You mean with dad?"

She hates that her kid inherited her stubbornness. He doesn't tiptoe around things like a scared child normally would, he's blunt about it. He asks his questions even though they're never answered, and he'll continue to do so until he finds what he's looking for.

"Go put your stuff away before he comes home." She says in a soft voice, the same one she uses when she tries to calm her husband down. It doesn't work on him, but Emmett listens to her then, to make her happy, if that's at all possible.

Focusing on the task at hand wouldn't be so hard if Emmett could manage to go a day without bringing it up, if she could manage to go a day without feeling the hidden bruises that decorate her skin.


	2. Chapter 2

**an**: Chapter two. Thank you guys for all the reviews! Enjoy. _Edited as of 10/23/12_

**Disclaimer**: Anyone you recognize isn't mine.

* * *

6:45pm.

Daddy's home.

Emmett looks out his window to see a pair of headlights shine on to the garage door. As soon as the engine shuts off, he shuts the blinds. He makes his way down the hall, but stops at the top of the stairs to sit. He watches as his father walks past him, fists clenched and all.

There's a deep growl behind him, vibrating in the wolf's throat. She comes from the back of his mind. No one saw her walking with him, just like no one sees her now. No one but him. Her black fur meshes into the dark hallway, but he can see her yellow eyes and if he narrows his, he can see her fangs, ready to sink into flesh.

She nudges the boy's arm as he tells her to keep quiet.

This gains Devan's interest and he back-tracks to the foot of the stairs to see his son try to hide something behind his back. "Emmett? Come down and eat."

He often has the urge to slap some sense into his boy, but he only an urge. He wouldn't dare hit his own flesh and blood. Someone might talk.

In the world of CEO's and Finance, the Ostlund name is a powerful one. He has dozens of replaceable employees working under him in the city, and he won't have it any other way.

On the outskirts of town, at home, he has his loving wife and bright son. At least, that's what he tells himself.

His loving wife is quite disobedient. She lies and she talks back, she doesn't clean well enough and she's too whiny in the bedroom. His son is a freak of nature, a fuck up at the age of eight. He has no friends and he doesn't like sports. He can't catch a ball and he doesn't talk.

"Well say something!" Devan says, slamming his hand down on the table. It's only after his mother jumps in her seat does he realize his father is talking to him.

"Do you have to talk to him like that?" Casey asks in a way she could easily regret. And she certainly does when her husband glares at her from across the table. Emmett watches this display of dominance and how his mother than has been holding her head up longer than usual. But she always drops it in the end.

"I can talk to him however I want. He doesn't need to be coddled anymore, Case. He needs to grow the fuck up." She's pushing a set of buttons she should not be anywhere near, but she can't stop herself.

"He's eight years old!" She throws out.

The boy fiddles with an unnecessary steak knife under the table. If he could, he'd push it deep into his dad's throat and stop him from saying another word. He imagines doing so as his parents bicker. There's hardly any blood, no more than when he scrapes his knee on the blacktop at school. And if it hurts his dad that bad, his mom could kiss it and make it better, like she used to. But he isn't sure he cares if it hurts him.

Sometimes it takes much more to provoke him, and sometimes nothing at all, but tonight Casey has given the perfect amount of disrespect. Emmett adores his mother for standing up to him, but he wishes she could have just kept her mouth shut now.

He's always wondered why it's so easy to back his mother into a corner. It's like she's caught in between fight or flight. And as he watches his dad shake her by her shoulders, he wonders why she doesn't just stop him. He wonders how she can allow him to do this to her, and he wonders about the many ways he could stop him.

His heart feels like it's ready to burst when he hears his mother's strength diminish, and that's when he sinks into the dimly lit hallway. He can hear her crying and pleading with him, and the flesh-against-flesh sounds that follow. He wonders what color his mother's skin will be in the morning.

Emmett wonders too much.

* * *

She's sitting awkwardly at her kitchen table, clinging to her mug of tea and only taking small sips. Her mind is almost as dependent on the caffeine-laden drink as it is on her husband. She doesn't know why she can't feel pretty unless he tells her so, or why she believes him when he says she's worthless.

She hasn't been this sore in a while. She knows he is stressed and likely to take that out on her, but there are times when she doesn't want to care about that. There are times where she wants to be the one being cared for. She wants to be doted on and she doesn't want to flinch at the raise of a hand. But her guilt gets the best of her and she feels ungrateful. Devan has given her everything: marriage, a beautiful home, and a child. She owes him. Casey knows he is the only who wants her, has wanted her, and he's the only one who has stuck by her. She likes his touch when he's being honest, and she had always liked his perfect smile.

But even she'll admit she hates that its this hard, that she's lost something she can't quite put her finger on. She hates that any attempt to even name this missing piece ends in failure. She hates that nearly anything she tries ends this way.

She ignores this, much like she has always done. Her thoughts are irrelevant.

Not one cares about her missing pieces. Not even her.


	3. Chapter 3

**an**: And so the updates begin. Only because I'm supposed to be writing something else and I'm procrastinating. Also, the first two chapters have been redone if you care to check 'em out. Also #2, please forgive any errors, I don't have a beta.  
**Prompt**: Your mind, this globe of awareness, is a starry universe. -Rumi

**Disclaimer**: I own no one you recognize.

* * *

He comes home to his mother clutching the counter behind her. With eyes forward, she is motionless. His father stands before her, lecturing and scolding as if she were nothing but a petulant child.

Emmett has witnessed this scene several times before, and even now as he watches from behind the corridor, it is just as familiar as it has always been. Though there is something he notices, something off about the tension filling the room. The look sprawled within his mother's eyes is not ordinary; a fuse has ignited and his father may very well be the thing to keep it lit. His father has a fuse as well. It's short and often dipped in kerosine; it has been all too easy to light it, to set him off. He has a sort of faith in his mother, though. He knows she is careful.

And above that, she is quite clever.

Devan closes the space between he and his wife, though it is anything but a kind gesture. He's able to threaten her with a simple posture, as she is able to fool him with hers. He's met with the fear-stricken gaze of his child when he turns to leave, and he isn't bothered by this much. He has learned to disregard it. Casey avoids her son as well. She can't stand his pathetic green eyes glaring in her direction. She feels them on her back as she steps out the backdoor. He tries to follow, but is met with the door shutting softly before him.

He turns to face his father's office, where he has once again hidden himself. He stalks quietly to the cracked door and slips inside.

Emmett is far from stupid, but in this moment, he doesn't seem to be thinking at all. "I'm going to tell mom." He says and Devan nearly jumps in his seat. He's caught his dad in a rather risque phone conversation, and the only thing he can think of is to rat him out. He'd get in trouble, he thinks, and he deserves it.

The man knows what he is doing, though. He doesn't fear his wife, not in the least. However, he surely fears the reaction of his community should anyone ever discover his muddy affair. He does not worry about his wife in this aspect either; she has learned it's better to stay quiet. Perhaps it's best Emmett learn this as well.

* * *

Just a minute, she thinks. Just one lonely minute to breathe. That's all she's wanted in the past decade. Yet, it could not be more impossible. If it's not Emmett, it's Devan (or both), and if it's neither then it's her prying neighbors. And if it's not them, it's her own self. Her own mind, heavy with an array of demons fluttering about. Everyone has their skeletons, but that no longer comforts her.

Her tired eyes fall upon neatly trimmed grass and perfectly placed lawn ornaments. The yard is neat, even for Fall, and it matches the front. She's grown to despise the suburbs. She misses her West Side apartment and how the fire escape had been dubbed a balcony. Sometimes, when she's sitting alone, she misses her ex-neighbor's black cat. She'd call him Kit, and he'd keep her company when she stole cigarette breaks. Devan hates cats, and had especially hated Kit. She later learned his true name was Missy, and that he was a she, when her owner came looking for her.

Her feline friend had never been found. She often wonders what happened, and if her husband had anything to do with it. Knowing what she does now, she doesn't put it past him.

She's still standing outside, remembering the calming taste of Menthol's when she faintly hears him shouting. She hurries inside and panics when she realizes Emmett is not where she left him. She easily follows Devan's voice, and finds her son huddled in a corner of his office and her husband over him.

Emmett feels himself being yanked away and suddenly he's behind his mother, eyes wide and teary. He watches as his father's hand comes down on her, and how she catches it before it does. He is certainly much stronger than she is, but her small act of defiance throws him off balance.

The tone of her voice as she tells her husband to never, not ever, lay a hand on her child is a chilling one. It scares the boy, but all he can do is stare.

The realization of what she's done seems to hit Casey like a ton of bricks. She quickly lets go of Devan and takes her son out of the room. She starts to turn to him, to see how angry he is, but she faces a closed door.

* * *

Olivia Benson truly feels for the younger woman before her. She is visibly shaken, and the detective knows she is sincere when she says it's not what she wanted.

"Please state your name for the record."

"Annabelle Clark." She says her name loud enough for the tape recorder. She does her best to sound strong, but even she knows it isn't fooling anyone. She does find it funny, though, how saying her name aloud is the start to her story.

"Okay Annabelle. Can you please tell me why you're here today?" Olivia speaks softly, and Annabelle finds no comfort in that.

"I was raped." She answers, almost questioning herself. They are her words, but she can't wrap her mind around them.

"Do you know who raped you?"

"Yes." She sighs deeply. "Devan Ostlund."


End file.
